Straitjacket
by dmnq8
Summary: A common street tough takes the fall for a corrupt organization and is sentenced to life in a maximum security prison. When the organization sends someone in to silence him, he decides it's time to fight back./ / Trade for DinDongDenied. AU, NaruSasu. Dark themes. Disclaimer in my profile.


A/N: Trade for my friend, my Prozac, the one who cracks me up without fail...(drumroll) **DingDongDenied**.

Right, so. This chapter is short, just to set things up. Kudos to anyone who can guess what year this is set in. Expect plenty of dark, disturbed characters doing horrible things. Drug references, mature language...you've been warned.

* * *

**Straitjacket**

Chapter 1

The keypad was new. For a nameless building in Long Island City, one that didn't have so much as a sticker to indicate what it was used for, it was a bit much. Especially since he hadn't been given a code. Not even a head's up.

There was a button. He pressed it.

"Yo."

His eyes narrowed as he tried to place the disembodied voice. "The fuck's this…Danny?"

"What do you want?" With his Bronx accent it came out as _Whaddayawant?_

"The fuck… You fucking cocksucker, what the fuck do you think I want here? _Open the fucking door, asshole!_"

A few beeps. The door buzzed and he yanked it open. There was a conference room he knew to be empty immediately to his left, and a long flight of stairs right in front of him. He was taking them two at a time before the door had shut behind him.

There was a glass door at the top, on his left. This he pulled open, eyes already zeroing in on the office directly behind that door and also to the left. The top half of the wall separating the office from the hall was glass. He stalked the short length of this wall, shoved the door to the office open, and marched right up to where Danny Ortega sat snorting a line of cocaine off his mouse pad. The hand he buried in that greasy hair effectively kept Danny from leaning back once he'd inhaled. "All right, don't twist your cock in a knot," Danny began at feeling his head grabbed.

He rammed that fat, greasy head into the computer screen, where the monitor cracked. All 200 pounds of Danny's fat and muscle reared out of his chair on a roar, but he shut him down, and silenced his rage, with a tight punch to his throat. Danny fell back to his chair, causing it to roll backward in protest, as he held his abused throat. He couldn't even cough.

"And this is who Boss has running security," he sneered. The chair only stopped moving when Danny's heels caught on the shabby carpet. "You listen to me you fucking cunt," he leaned down to whisper. Danny's beady eyes glared at him. "You ever talk to me like that again, like I'm some two-bit skank looking to suck your cock, I will put a bullet between your eyes. Hear me? Right…here." He licked a fingertip and shoved it dead center of Danny's fleshy forehead.

Danny kept his mouth shut.

Point made, he straightened up, buttoned his suit jacket, and strode from the office, all in one smooth series of moves.

The hall outside the office led into a much larger room, this one riddled with cubicles. All were empty at this time of night. His loafers whispered on the short nap of the grey carpet that ran wall to wall in every room. Crummy carpet was on both floors of the entire building. Whole building was shitty, but then it was only used for these quick little meetings at night…and running credit card scams during the day.

At the far end of the room was another little office fronted by a glass wall. No one sat at the desk in there, but there was another musclehead standing outside the door in the office. One would think it led to a supply closet, but of course it didn't.

This one's name was Hal. Big. Broad. Dumb. "Let me in, Hal."

A slow smile, probably meant to intimidate. "Well, well. Look who's all nervous and jumpy. Wonder why? Boss ain't happy with you."

He reached beneath his jacket, to the small of his back, and withdrew his nine. He was so pissed it was a struggle to speak. His voice came out sounding as if he were being strangled. "I'll blow your fucking nuts off, I swear to Christ. _Move_."

Hal moved.

Door was unlocked. He might be walking into a spray of bullets right now, but the chance had to be taken. Blowing out a short breath to steady his nerves, he holstered the pistol as he opened the door, and quickly entered.

-oOo-

Pitch black inside. As usual. "Boss," he said, as his eyes adjusted. "I-"

"Sit."

"I can explain-"

"I said…to _sit_, Itachi."

There was a click in the dark somewhere ahead of him, one that drew his balls up high and tight right quick. Sweat pearled on his brow and he closed his mouth with a silent gulp. "Yes, Boss." A large, steely hand closed around his left bicep and steered him, if it could be called that, to a chair. The hand moved to his shoulder, and he was pressed down into the seat with enough force to make his teeth come together on his tongue. Whoever the hand belonged to –probably Micky- stood right behind him.

If he remembered the layout to this office correctly, he was sitting in front of a desk. His boss was on the other side of it. "Boss-"

This time the unmistakable sound of a bullet being violently ratcheted into a chamber could be heard coming from the other side of that desk. At the same time, Micky's hand shot out to grab him beneath his chin. His head was jerked back against washboard abs. Another gun pressed against his right temple, where the cold metal chilled his entire face.

Only when the silence had been allowed to stretch out for several tension-filled minutes did anyone speak.

"What'd I ask you to do, Itachi?"

Itachi wet his lips. The huge hand beneath his chin began squeezing when he took too long to speak. Micky's thumb and fingers dug into his cheeks until Itachi squeezed his eyes shut and yelled. "All right! Fucking _Christ_, Micky, when I get up I will shove my gun so far up your little faggot ass-"

Movement from the other side of the desk. That hand kept his head craned back at an unnatural angle, but he rolled his eyes downward to see. A shadow in the dark came around the desk to stand in front of him and place the barrel of a gun right against his crotch. "As far as I'm concerned," that smooth, soft voice said, "this here is the only gun you need to be worried about. Last time I'm asking, you fuck. What did I tell you to do?"

Tears of rage stood in Itachi's eyes. "To kill the deal."

"Kill the deal. That's right. And…what did you do?"

"But Boss-"

The hand and both guns all increased their pressure. Itachi was sweating freely now as he bleated at them to wait. "I went ahead with it. I took the deal."

"After I said not to."

"Yes."

"After my very justifiable suspicions that the deal was a trap set by the feds."

"Yes.

"And now, you brainless motherfucker, we could be looking at a federal indictment and prison. Seven mill on our hands, Itachi. Seven million dollars. _Now_ you can tell me how you expect to get rid of that kind of cash when we've got a search light trained on every fucking aspect of our lives right now."

The gun pushed off of his crotch with such force that he felt it clear up his stomach and into his throat. Mickey's hand released him after one more vicious squeeze. Itachi sat rubbing his jaw and cradling his balls. "I got a guy."

The shadow that moved away from him was now a man, dimly seen, clad in a fitted grey suit, with his unruly black hair tamed into a spiky club at base of his skull. His voice had never risen above a murmur, and it didn't do so now as he sat in his chair once more on the other side of his desk. "A guy. You hear that?" he said to the man behind Itachi. "Our lives circling the drain, and this _cunt_ says he's got a guy." He leaned forward and put his forearms on the table, his gun held loosely in one hand as he pointed it at Itachi's glassy eyes. "You know you're not walking out of here, right? I mean you have to know that."

"Boss. _Please_."

There was a pause of consideration. "What the hell. Let's hear how you plan to spin this." He leaned back in his chair and set the gun on the desk.

Itachi sagged in relief. "Okay, so I got this guy-"

"Skip ahead to the good stuff. Not getting any younger here. DA's moving in. Has all the evidence he needs. I want to hear how you plan to make that go away."

"This guy-"

"And if I hear about this guy one more time," he added, caressing his gun, "I'll empty this thing in you."

Itachi swallowed. "The guy _is_ the plan."

"What. Some tweaked out piece of shit you found?"

"Come on, would I do that? Huh?" He tried to turn around and look at Micky, trying to lighten the mood a bit. One of those disturbingly large hands clamped down on the sensitive muscle between his neck and shoulder and squeezed, which effectively kept him from looking anywhere but at the Boss. "Fuck, all right!" He wheezed when the pain was unbearable. "DA's moving in, but…not necessarily. The evidence is largely circumstantial. Only thing tying us to anything _is_ that money. And I've got someone taking care of that. And it's not some crystal freak," he rushed to add when the gun was scooped off the table.

"Trustworthy?"

"We've used him before. Keeps his mouth shut."

"If he's caught that might change."

"He won't be caught. No one knows where the money's been moved to besides myself and this punk. And _if_ he's caught, don't worry. My brother will handle him."

A pause. Itachi thought he saw the Boss's eyes shift in the dark, but all that was said was, "Ah. He's home then?"

"As of last week. For good this time. Trust me, he's never failed an assignment. This thing is in the bag. We're as good as cleared. Okay? So-"

"Where's this person now? The one you're using?"

"Should be disposing of the money as we speak."

More silence. Itachi could see the man across the desk fairly well now. He was still slouched back, partially turned to one side, long fingers caressing the gun on the table. He swiveled back and forth in his chair, producing a _scree_ _scree_ sound that put the hairs up on the back of Itachi's neck. He found his nerves winding tighter and tighter the longer he was forced to endure that non-silence. It didn't surprise him to feel tears of hope, frustration, and fear sting his eyes. All three emotions were fighting for dominance in his chest. He blinked furiously. _God, I need a fix._

When that sound stopped, Itachi looked away from the gun to find his boss studying him.

"Well all right, then."

Hope won out. "It's all right? I can…I can go?"

"No, Itachi. We talked about this, remember?"

Now it was fear. "H-how come? I've never failed you before. I said I got this."

"How come? Because I send you to kill a deal, cover our asses…do the things I expect my right hand man to do, the shit you been doing for me since before your fucking balls dropped, and you go and bring Armageddon down on our heads. No. You're not walking out of here. Know why?"

The tears were rolling down his cheeks now. He could feel Micky standing right behind him, the heat from his massive body radiating over the back of his head and neck. "I swear to you, I _swear_…the guy-"

"Because I think you're a rat."

Everything in Itachi went cold. Even his tears cooled, so that they stopped running. He sat absolutely still, wondering if he could get to his gun and take out at least one of them before his brains were blown out.

"Oh. Quiet now, are we? What, you think I'm stupid? What'd the feds offer you?"

No good. He couldn't move so much as an eyelash much less reach for his gun without them seeing. He briefly considered trying to salvage some part of this, but if they knew this much there was really no use. It was over. _Jesus. Told them I wasn't cut out to do this, reduced sentence be fucked. _If only he hadn't been picked up for possession with intent to sell last month.

The man behind the desk considered the way Itachi's face went slack of all its previous tension. Noted the way the man now slouched back in his chair. He signaled the looming shape behind Itachi with a slight nod.

Itachi saw it. Was waiting for that signal. When Micky cocked his gun, he spun, his nine retrieved as he dropped to the floor in front of his chair, and aimed at the thug's head.

But it wasn't Micky staring down at him. "Sasuke?"

* * *

That one moment of shock was all Sasuke needed to put his brother out of his misery, shot muffled by the silencer he used. Single, neat circle between his staring eyes. Sasuke didn't linger on the sight, or on what he'd done. Merely holstered his gun and returned to parade rest.

"Well…shit." He left his chair to get up and peer over the front of his desk. Itachi lay sprawled on his back. "You weren't kidding when you said you'd handle him." He looked up at Sasuke's face. His stance might be of one used to taking commands, but that face was all kinds of dangerous. He dropped back to his chair, gun in his hand, and studied the big man. "Sit down."

"I prefer to stand, Boss."

"Ah, that boss shit is for people like your brother. All the people I got working for me that have delusions of grandeur. Think they're king of the underworld when they're nothing but expendable cocksuckers. You, though. I think you'll go far. I know Itachi took care of you. Put you through West Point. Fucked if I know your full military history, but you ended up in Special Forces, wasn't it?"

"Yes, B- sir."

"Madara."

Sasuke only stared.

"What was it…Other Than Honorable discharge?"

"Yes…sir."

"Well I won't pretend to know what all that means, but as I understand it you were particularly trigger happy. I plain don't give a shit. What I care about is that your brother is right. You've never failed an assignment for us. I know work's been hard to come by for you, so now, instead of doing odd wet work for us, I'd like to bring you on full-time. See what you're really made of. Though, if you could shoot your own brother like that in cold blood, I think I have a pretty good idea. You and me? We're going to do _great_. Definitely not another expendable cocksucker. Not you, eh?"

Sasuke didn't return the chummy smile. "I await orders, sir."

"Yeah, I'll bet. Fucking machine, you are. Like the Terminator. You see that movie? Second one came out what...two, three years ago? That's you." Madara lost himself in several seconds of fascinated study of those soulless black eyes. They were trained directly on his face, another detail that suggested danger. "How about you suck my cock?"

A blink. That's all he got, was a fucking blink.

"I hear you're good at that. I can make a cocksucker out of you yet, mark my words. So when I tell you to use my name, when I fucking _speak_ to you, your ass-sucking mouth better answer me back."

The look on Sasuke's face never changed, nor did his stance waver, but Madara tightened his hand on his gun just the same when that stoic face did speak. "I'm not my brother," Sasuke said. "You're not going to lure me into being your confidante, or your trusted go-to guy, by making me use your name. I'm an asset. Not your friend. You got work for me, fine. But don't think I shot my brother for you. This-" he kicked Itachi's cooling body- "doesn't cement some kind of bond between us. You got contacts I want you to utilize. You wanted Itachi dead, so he's dead. Consider it my payment for use of those contacts."

Madara's head spun; he couldn't figure out if he was insulted, on his guard, or impressed. But as he took in the height (six four, was his guess), and the weight (somewhere in the neighborhood of 250 pounds, all muscle), he decided that he was all three. It came to him that he saw a flunky, while Sasuke apparently saw a business transaction. "What do you want?"

"My record. I want it changed to Honorable discharge."

"Why?"

"So I can find work."

"You work for me now."

"No. I approached you with what my brother was doing for one reason."

"Your record." He held the barrel of his gun against his cheek, noting that Sasuke's piece was still holstered, thank God.

"I know you can get it changed."

"Not easily…but I think I understand. See, your brother told me a lot about you. You have your…perversions. Things you do in private. A nice, respectable job gives you a cover, a way to appear like a decent member of society while you continue to prey on the weak and innocent. How many guys was it your brother found buried in the backyard? Dismembered. Tortured. Yeah, I remember him needing my help disposing of anything that could point to you. You weren't even old enough to drink. _Had_ to ship you off to that school, didn't he. Bet you'd like to continue that little hobby of yours without worrying where your next paycheck is coming from. Fucking psychopath is what you are. I love it. And you think you got the balls to come in here and strong arm me into doing what you want because you dropped your brother without a second thought." Madara laughed. "So here's the deal. You do something for me, I wipe your record clean. You'll be pure as the driven snow to anyone looking to hire your ass."

Sasuke considered it. For five seconds. "What."

"Find this guy your brother was going on about. Find the money. Neutralize this situation. For all I know he's another mole the feds planted."

"I'm not sure I can."

"If you can't find some pimply ass punk-"

"I can _find_ anyone. But if the feds are involved, that's it."

"Hey. You want something," Madara said, pointing at him, "and I want something. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Business." He watched the muscle in Sasuke's jaw jump menacingly. "We're not _friends_, after all. Right? Find him. Handle it. Then we'll talk."

If Madara were an entity unto himself, Sasuke thought, he would consider killing him. But the organization was a lot bigger than just Madara. If he walked out of here on a refusal –provided he wasn't shot in the back- he probably wouldn't even make it to his car. Which begged the question why couldn't Madara deal with this guy some other way? But he knew what he was getting in to when he approached Madara. "When I find him, what do you want me to do with the money?"

"Get rid of it. I don't care how. If Itachi had done what I told him, we'd have been fine. But no, your shitty brother had to go and accept the money, then hire some fuck to hide it or fuck knows what." The brief little high he'd gotten from Itachi's death suddenly soured. "Fuck, get out of here. Handle this. Then we'll talk." He waved Sasuke away impatiently.

Sasuke bent and searched his brother's pockets. When he had what he wanted, he left. Madara frowned at the way such a big guy was able to move so silently. Then he turned and looked out the single window. Traffic was light this late, especially for this part of Queens. He saw Sasuke walking south, toward a vehicle a block and a half away. Black. Pontiac Trans Am, if he wasn't mistaken. Nineteen-eighty, eighty-one. He saw Sasuke fold himself into the car, where he proceeded to stare into his lap.

-oOo-

Personally, he wasn't one for gadgets. Itachi was another story. He'd gone on and on about the wonder of cell phones before finally buying one the previous year. Something called a Nokia 232. Fresh on the market, Itachi enthused. Sasuke couldn't have cared less. But as he stared at the phone in his hand, he thought maybe it had its uses.

_Like finding some pimply ass punk. Who knows? Maybe I can have some fun with him. _He liked his guys small and weak; they screamed the loudest.

* * *

Said individual was scarcely a mile up the road, standing sentinel outside a warehouse. He'd been given a phone, the first he'd ever owned, and told to wait for a call. If he got it, he was to take the money to a designated location. If he didn't, he was to take the money anyway. He wasn't the brightest bulb in the box, but it seemed to him the phone and the call both made no difference to the business at hand. Money needed to be moved either way. When an hour passed after the time he was to receive the call and no call came, he shoved the phone into a back pocket and looked around.

His section of Northern Boulevard was deserted. No one around, parked cars all empty. The Q and N trains periodically passed overhead. A single hobo sat across the street, drooling onto his coat. How anyone could wear a coat in July was beyond him, but whatever. He did another look around, and saw a lady pushing a shopping cart full of cans two blocks away. Her and the hobo, that was it. Now or never.

The warehouse had a single security guard on duty. An old man who was supposed to patrol the entire area around the warehouse at least every 90 minutes, but who hadn't stepped foot outside since arriving some hours ago. He would know, he'd been standing in the same spot for the past six hours. Since eight pm. He shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered out of the shadows, over to the warehouse. Hobo across the street gave a grunting snore.

-oOo-

He didn't even bother with the front, but ducked around the corner to the back, where he was met with a corrugated steel door. To the side of this, however, was an ordinary door that only required a keycard. Which he had, thanks to Itachi. He used it now, waited for the green light, and went on in.

He could see the guard at his station, eating Chinese take-out and watching some game or other on his little TV. There were stacks and aisles of pallets a good ten feet high between the guard and him, so no worries there. He navigated these until he came to the northeastern corner of the huge interior, where there was another door. Keycard served him again.

Inside, there were a few boxes of stock, some bundles of some product or other, but he was interested in what was hidden behind these. Two huge black duffel bags, each as high as his hip when he stood them on end. And heavy as fuck, but that was no problem. He slung one over each shoulder, where they collided on his back, and turned for the door.

The hobo stood there, gun in one hand, badge in the other. "Hold it right there, buddy."

He saw the shopping cart lady behind the hobo, also armed. Heard what sounded like several cruisers screeching to a halt out front, and a multitude of feet running inside the warehouse.

* * *

Madara listened in silent rage as the report was given.

"I got there as they were storming the place. Didn't go in; cops were everywhere. Four squad cars. Heard it took ten badges to put him down, and he only stopped fighting after they pumped him full of tranqs. I didn't see when they brought him out…didn't want to linger, but this guy sounds crazy."

"Meaning?"

"Not some pimply ass punk. They arrested him. Tried everything I could think of to get in to see him, get some idea of what I was dealing with. I can't. He's on lock down."

"What-"

"Three of those ten cops died trying to bring him in, and one detective. Not sure what he did, but it wasn't by gunfire. Bare hands, I think. They've thrown everything at him, not just voluntary manslaughter. Obstruction of justice, grand larceny, resisting arrest, accessory to-"

"_Christ!_"

"He also had a rap sheet long as my arm. Prior offenses."

"You know all this but don't know the guy's name or what he looks like?"

"Was all over the station when I went in there to report my dog missing. Couldn't even put him in a holding cell with the other perps; asshole crushed somebody's throat for not letting him sit down. I don't know where they have him now, but if he doesn't get sent to a supermax facility I'll fucking blow you just like you want. This shit is over."

Madara was inclined to agree. _What kind of psycho had Itachi hired? _He looked Sasuke over. "This doesn't sound like someone too sane, I have to agree. Could be a meth head just like I said. Once you get to him, who's to say you could even take him?"

"Never been taken down once. Ever. Doesn't matter anyway, this guy is as good as gone."

Madara was studying the far wall, thinking. Sunlight streaming through the blinds made horizontal bars of light across the paint job, but he didn't see this. "Supermax. Can't imagine he'd want that. What kind of nutjob kills a fucking badge, Jesus. Had to know he'd go down for that. And he did for three, not just one. _And_ a detective. That, the money, the priors…you're right, he's going down, no doubt there. So here's where you get your little wish, Sasuke. You listening?"

Sasuke was, though Madara had appeared to be speaking to himself. "Yes."

"I'll start the process now, of getting that record of yours changed. Wipe it clean as a baby's ass, I will. You're going to get yourself hired at whichever facility this punk gets sent to. You'll be going there for one reason."

"To silence him."

"Precisely. I'm not leaving some piece of shit in the wind to talk or cut a deal, and thus sell my ass up the river. Itachi was bad enough. Get in, get him, get out."

"Why?"

Now Madara looked at him. "What the fuck do you mean _why_. I just said why."

"I mean why go to the trouble of altering my record, when you said it wouldn't be easy, when you have resources in every state department in the five boroughs? Why not have a guard or badge somewhere snuff him en route to the courthouse, or wherever? Come to think of it, you probably have men down at the jail and in every police station. Why _don't_ you know who he is or what he looks like?"

"Did I or did I not say the feds are all over me and my operation? They've been building a case against us for years. Your brother conveniently handed them the last piece to the puzzle. So don't _come_ in here begging for favors and then _question_ me on how I run my shit. _Understood?_"

Sasuke wasn't impressed with the yelling. "Perfectly_._"_ You want me to do this because you want me working for you. Something in my background is of interest to you._

"Good." Madara wrote an address on a piece of paper. "Take that. You'll need to go to Brooklyn, see a man by the name of Orochimaru. He'll take care of you in regard to that record."

"Yes, sir." He turned to go.

"And Sasuke…I don't want to hear from you unless this fuck is dead. Bring me his head. I'm going underground, wait this shitstorm out. Feds will be raiding every joint I have, I need to lay low. You know what to do."

"Yes sir. I do."

Sasuke pocketed the paper as he left. _Time to go hunting._


End file.
